


Five Reasons Why Steve Rogers Gets Beat Up for You (Plus 2)

by TheWalkingDebt



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Love Confession, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, a little bit of whump Steve, feisty Steve, fix-it Bucky, shipper Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:24:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9651797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWalkingDebt/pseuds/TheWalkingDebt
Summary: See title.





	1. Because He's in Love With You

“What, like you think you have a chance with her? Gimme a break, Rogers. There are actual _shrimp_ with more muscle than you!”

“Bet you anything she laughs him right outta the school.”

“Hey broomstick! Ladies don't like a man that need _heels_ to reach their height!”

It's high school, and Steve’s finally managed to garner up the courage to ask you out.  With Bucky cheering him on, and not much else, he's practically pushed up to your locker, daisies in hand looking more wilted by the second. You shut your locker and see pretty blue eyes staring at you.

“Hi,” you smile, feeling like champagne is bubbling in your stomach. He's small, cute, and honestly, a little sickly looking. But given that every time a healthy looking guy has asked you out it's been an utter failure/waste of your time/prank, you're willing to give fate a chance.

Besides, he's holding your favorite flowers. Divine intervention in the form of the least expected.

“H-hi, uh…” he stutters a bit, but you finally have a name to put to a face. Or, rather, voice.

“You're… Steve, aren't you?” you realized, recalling from multiple roll calls and the same voice answering questions in class. “Don’t we have math together?”

He nods furiously, “Yeah! Yeah, we, um, I, I sit behind you…”

“Oh, that's perfect, do you take notes? Cuz I'm failing so spectacularly in that class…” your desperate eyes are what deviate him from his original task.

At least he's relatively good at math.

“S-sure, I mean…” he shrugs a bit.

“Oh, you're the best, Steve,” you beam, dropping a kiss on his cheek. His face immediately breaks out in a dark red flush, but you’re already gone, calling after him teasingly to remind him math starts in two minutes.

He ends up taking you to the dance anyways, but decidedly as friends. Which is still better than alone, and a thousand times better than you laughing him out of the school.

Doesn't stop the guys from dragging him behind the bleachers to “teach him” a lesson. But at least you're there for clean up.


	2. Because You're Outspoken

“Well why not?” Your unasked for response draws all the attention of the room. You shift nervously, adjusting your skirts. “I mean, Hitler seems pretty fanatical about his rise to power. Shouldn’t we be concerned about his policies?” you hate how quivery your voice is getting, but you’re really not used to being the center of attention.

The men give you simpering looks, and your older brother waves it aside with a small chuckle.

“She’s such a worrier, my little sis.”

You remain quiet from then on, choosing instead to return your attention to your lap, despite the anger working its way through you.

Steve, who's only there because he hated the idea of leaving you alone at a party with all these guys, notes the tic to your jaw and pipes up. “She’s right, though.”

Startled eyes turn to him, and his voice lifts a bit louder, a little stronger, despite the attention. “What makes you think the Nazis are going to be happy with just Germany? We shouldn’t have our businesses cooperating with a man like Hitler.”

“Like you could do anything about it, milksop,” one man jeers, much to the laughter of his friends. Including your brother.

You stand up straight, glaring at them. “If anyone of you was _half_ the man Steve is, you might actually come close to impressing me,” you snap, practically growling out your protective loyalty to the only guy who’s shown a speck of dignity towards you.

The guys all look at each other with smirks, your brother’s face turning worried. “Look, sis, you’re being a bit unfair…” he starts, uncomfortably.

“Unfair? And it’s not unfair when you’re picking on Steve? He’s ten times the person any of you grandstanding creeps ever could be!” You storm out, infuriated that they had even gotten to you as badly as they did. You’re supposed to be proper and dignified and a lady… well if any of that meant people trampled all over the only guy you ever cared about, then, then you’d rather be thought of as no better than a call-girl!

Steve gets up to follow you, make sure you get home alright, when he hears a scoff from behind.

“Whadda gal, huh, man? Your sister sure is nuts…”

“She’s not nuts,” Steve glares at the guy, Rufus he thinks, that says this.

The much, much larger man sends the young punk a dirty look. “Did I ask you, twiggy? Cuz I don’t remember askin’ you.”

Any man with sense would back down from this guy’s increasingly dangerous expression, but not Steve. Even your brother is starting to get a bit nervous. “Look, man, don’t start a fight…” he speaks up anxiously.

“You’re gonna fight me?” Steve asks daringly, not looking away from the challenge. Not even bothering to stand up to it. He knows he’ll be on the ground in seconds. “Really? Throw the first one.”

 _You deserve better than just me, someone stronger to stand up for you,_ he thinks mournfully as he’s nearly pummeled into the ground. Still, when he shows up, all bloody and bruised on your doorstep, he’s pretty damn proud of himself.

Even if you look horrified.


	3. Because of the Guys Leering at You

You two are walking side by side as you leave the supermarket, bags in hand as you chit-chat amiably. Steve’s always been the easiest to talk to, the most accepting of your most rash behavior, and the best listener you’ve ever had as a conversation partner. He remembered your birthday after one mention of it, enough to get you a gift when your own brother forgot. Sometimes, it's almost easy to ignore the fact that when you're around him, your skin gets hot and your heart races easily. You tend to get lost in those animated blue eyes of his, and the way he gets excited when he talks about art sends chills through you. You like having him as a friend, and losing that... well... it didn't bear thinking about. So yeah, you fight back every urge to kiss those ranting, adorable lips of his when he's on a verbal roll. 

“Whoo, check out the gams on _that_ one!” a guy whistles as you walk past. Honestly, you’re pretty unused to attention from men, thanks to your lack of natural poise and girlish beauty, so you barely even notice. Steve, on the other hand, immediately tenses.

“Yeah, too bad about the gimp beside her, though; pretty little thing like that needs better protection than a mop handle like him,” another laughs, and that’s when you recognize they mean you and Steve. Growling to yourself, you march on, but realize a second later that Steve’s disappeared.

“Steve!” you call after him, already heading down the alley. “Steve, don’t you dare!”

“What’d you say about her?” he’s _your_ furious little Irishman, but _dammit, Steve,_ if he just doesn’t manage to scare you to the core with how easy he is to rile up…

You turn the corner and see the guys whaling on him with far too much delight, “Hey! Stop it!” And they do, for a moment, turning their sharklike gazes on you. Your bones go cold and shaky.

“Oh yeah? You gonna stop us?” one leers, looking you up and down like meat at the market. You take a step back, jaw quivering, because they could do some real damage. You’re not a hero; you’re just a loudmouth that fell in with another loudmouth punk that got into an unfortunate amount of fights around you.

“No, but I will,” a man’s voice comes from behind you, startling you from your fear. He’s tall and dark haired, sending you a wink as he steps in front of you. You instantly relax, even smile at him. “Steve, you alright?”

“Never better,” the poor guy wheezes from the alleyway ground. Bucky takes care of the two guys as you run to Steve.

“You idiot, why'd you go and do a crazy thing like that?” you lift his face up to meet yours, studying the damage. Gashes and bruises, his beautiful skin and delicate face marred once more. He just quirks a small grin at you, painfully.

“Didn't like what they said about you,” he mumbles through swelling lips.

“Oh,” you sigh. “You… Steve, when will you just stop trying to get yourself killed? I _like_ you alive.” He only shrugs, looking pretty happy that you said you liked him at all.

“Well, that takes care of those guys for a bit,” Bucky sighs, helping you hoist up the 90 pound sweetheart you wish would just stop getting in fights for you. “Next time, why don't you just walk her straight on home like a normal guy, eh?”

Bucky is well-practiced in finding and beating up Steve’s bullies, thankfully. You call around for him anytime Steve is too badly damaged or about to get into a fight, if you have enough time to do so. Somehow, he always finds you two.


	4. Because He's Jealous

It's no lie that James Buchanan Barnes is attractive. He's got everything a girl could want: charm, sophistication, a listening ear, a nice smile… it certainly doesn't hurt that he is extremely fit. But… you've never really been normal, have you? And so yeah, Bucky’s very traditionally handsome, and if you weren't already in love with his best friend, you might like him just as much.

  
Unfortunately, no one told Steve.

“What happened this time?” you groan as Bucky, once more, drags your wounded little soldier into your home.

Atypically, Bucky sends the unconscious man a small scowl as he leaves Steve on the couch. “Ask him.” He heads over to the kitchen, grousing all sorts of curses under his breath as he fetches an ice bag and towel. He limps back, and once you've got Steve settled, you realize then Bucky's injured as well. Another unusual occurrence.

“I thought you were all big tough guy,” you tease, taking the ice bag and towel from his hands. “How'd you get such a good looking shiner?”

Bucky snorts, “Kid throws a harder punch than you'd think.” You gape after him, wondering if he could possibly mean… you look closer at Steve’s hands and see the bleeding knuckles of a fist making skull contact. There appear to be no other wounds.

“You idiot,” you mutter, cleaning up the blood and icing the bruises as best you could. “What'd you do to him?” You send a glare over your shoulder at the other man. Even if Steve had thrown a punch, and miraculously made contact, you expected better of Bucky than to continue it.

Bucky only sighs, easing ice onto his bruise as well, “All I can say is, he was a bit drunk, and pretty stunned he got me at all. Anything more and I'm spilling secrets that ain't my business to tell.”

Growling about dumb boys, you tut over Steve's unconscious body a bit more, sliding that soft blonde hair from his eyes as you view him carefully, anxiously.

“Y'know if you like him, you should just tell him,” Bucky speaks up, startling you, then sniggers. “It'd probably shock him more than getting a punch in ever would.”

You flush bright red, “Wh-what, like him, I… I mean…” you shake your head. “We're just friends,” you mutter, turning your back to Bucky.

“And the sky is green,” Bucky retorts. “He needs some encouragement in his life. Should be from you.”

“He doesn't need me,” you try to sound convinced. “Not like that. I'm not… He's not...”

“Ugh, you two, no wonder he thought…” Bucky stands, drawing your attention once more, as he interrupts his own sentence. “If I come back in the morning and you two aren't attached at the mouth, I'm giving him a matching eyepiece.” He points to his shiner before leaving with a huff.

Completely red, and thankful Steve's out cold, you turn back to the blond resting on your couch. Only to see blue eyes staring back at you. “Steve…” your throat dries up at the tired and hurt look on his face.

“I'm fine,” he mumbles, letting a small sigh out. “It's just my hand.”

“I know,” you murmur, wrapping the towel around the injuries as softly as you could manage. “Stevie?”

He looks at you with wide and woebegone eyes, “If you like Bucky…”

“I don't… what?” you hope you look and sound as confused as you feel. “I don't like Bucky.”

The cynical young man snorts, “That'd be a first.”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” you glare at him, upset. “I'd like to think I'd be a better friend to you than to use you to date your best friend.” You soften at the shamefaced expression he gains. “Besides, why would I want someone like Bucky when I already have a Steve Rogers?”

Standing, you press a quiet kiss to his forehead. “Don't try and kill James again. He might actually hurt you next time,” you tease lightly, flushed red from the show of affection you had just given him. His face says it all, the wide open mouth and eyes clearly communicating astonishment. His heart is going a million miles an hour, brain trying to piece together your words in a way that could possibly make sense if you didn’t… well, just because you don’t like Bucky (somehow, magically) doesn’t mean you like Steve Rogers.

Right?

You had walked away before you could do more to upset this delicate balance of friendship you have with Steve. You, therefore, don’t see the utter longing and desire in his gaze as he watches you leave the room.


	5. Because He Asks your Brother a Simple Question

It's taking all his guts and lack of sense to ask this question, to even talk to this guy at all.

“I… I want to court your sister,” he tries not to wince, but still expects at least a verbal pummeling.

Your brother only looks confused. “Is, is this news? Kid, you've liked her since like ninth grade, even I know that,” your brother scoffs, lighting a cigarette. Steve coughs on the smoke, trying not to breathe it in. “Even if she don’t see it.”

Steve blinks, “So, i-is that…?”

The guy lets out a puff, dragging the cigarette from his lips in quiet consideration, staring at Steve.

“Like I'd let her marry a guy like you.”

Steve feels a lump go solidly down his throat, burning hot in his stomach. The fact is, your brother doesn't even sound cruel, just straightforward.

“Look, she could get consumption just from being near you. You can't get a very good job to support her, neither. And what're her kids gonna look like, eh? Blind and deaf, with as many problems as you have alleys you been beat up in.” Steve winces at that one. “Nuthin’ against you, Steve, but I don't want my baby sister gettin’ anything less than perfection.” His voice and eyes soften as he leans forward. “I’m glad you're her friend. But it probably shouldn't get to be anything more than that. For her sake.”

Steve leaves in a blind but, for once, quiet rage. The problem is, he can't argue with any of that. Your brother's right. He'd probably just end up getting you killed faster than anything. He's better off staying away from you, being at a distance, maybe even pushing Bucky towards you so you forget about any… _anythings_ you could possibly feel towards Steve.

If you even do feel anything towards him at all.

“Well well, lookie here, Mr. Big Shot.”

Steve winces, wheeling around, hands stuffed in his pockets for warmth. Great, cuz he just needed to meet this guy on the way home. It's one of your few suitors, chosen mostly by their own fathers to go after your father's inheritance. Not a large one, by any means, but money’s money. He thinks this one's name is Todd.

Todd spits to the side of the street, giving Steve a smirk. “Heard you askin’ her precious brother for her hand. Ain’t that sweet.”

Steve's heart starts racing, but it's not exactly an unusual occurrence. “Yeah. So?” His breath comes out in cold plumes, shivering him to the bone.

“What makes you think a dame like her would go with a guy like you?” Todd sneers. “Girls like guys that can make ‘em feel protected, secure.”

“Well, she’d probably prefer a guy that didn't pretend he knew what she wanted, so…” Steve smiles halfheartedly, just waiting for the punch now.

“You little smart mouth,” Todd snarls, coming at him. Steve does nothing more than brace for impact.

“Don't you dare hurt him!” your voice comes from behind, and Steve watches, amazed, as you whack the guy across the back of the head with your dad’s old walking stick. A heavy affair, that's for sure, with its knobby end and dense oak material. Todd drops, leaving Steve to stare at you in disbelief. Your hair’s a bird's nest from running down the street, your clothes a haphazard mess like you had thrown on whatever was closest, your cheeks all red and eyes puffy. The snow drifting down melts on your skin and crystallizes in your hair.

You stare back at Steve, sniffling a bit, and he's just thinking you've never looked better, or more astounding, to him. “I, I saw him tailing you through the window," you explain lamely, dropping the stick in the accumulating snow. Your hands are shaking so damn bad, you don't know if you can admit this... but you have to. "I, I don't care if I get consumption,” you blurt out, seemingly randomly, but you had heard the whole conversation just as you left the shower. You hadn't the time to construct a decent confession, so off the cuff it is. “I want you. I've been in love with you since tenth grade.”

He only takes a moment to comprehend this, what this means, before relief and joy floods his entire being.

“Oh, thank God,” Steve sighs, stepping over Todd to cradle your face in his hands and kiss the living daylights out of you. And if you had known exactly how good this boy could kiss, well, you would've hit any guy over the head sooner for this opportunity.

And, spoilers, but even after almost three years of marriage, you have yet to be killed by this amazing guy.


	6. (1) The Time He Beats Someone Else Up for, Almost, Hurting You

He and Bucky have been gone for months. The most communication you're allowed are small, mostly redacted, telegraphs and letters. It's infuriating more than anything else, but when Steve sets his mind to something… well… it's hard to ignore that. You begged and pleaded and cried but every damn time he saw another sign up sheet, he went after it. And you admired that persistence in him, you really did, but it had been tearing you apart inside to see him act like he wanted to get himself killed

“Isn't it bad enough, just living in Brooklyn?” you asked once, almost jokingly, if it weren't for the tears sliding down your face.

“I have to do this, you know I do,” and yeah, you did, you still do, but you want to be selfish. Want to hold onto this beautiful man for as long as you possibly can. He's yours, and the state can't say anything different.

Until they do. You screamed, you wept, and, ashamedly, you hid from him. He knew very well how _not_ well you were taking it, and when you came back to him, he was asking, miserably, if you wanted to leave him.

“For god sakes, Rogers, that's _exactly_ why I don't want you to go,” you were so exasperated with this sweet man before you, but it didn't stop how much you love him and his stupidly self-sacrificing attitude. “I swear, if you find some floozy in France to hook up with, then yes, maybe, but you just better as hell come back in one piece to me, soldier.” 

It's bad enough losing one of them, but two? God, you're not sure if you could make it…

Your girlfriends drag you along to a war bonds show, featuring some hulk of a guy they've been obsessing over for months. Meanwhile, you've been up to your arms in weapons for as long as you're allowed, doing your part to make sure your boys over there have the munitions to fight the krauts properly. You don't have time for other guys or cute little shows to raise morale. You've already got enough reason to support Uncle Sam - your family was over there.

You're far in the back, but you can still hear Captain America’s rousing call. If it weren't for the fact he looks absolutely nothing like Steve, you'd swear it was him. But Steve isn't six feet tall, and he certainly can't lift a motorcycle with three girls piled precariously on it. Yet… it sounds just like him, and you'd think you'd recognize your Stevie’s voice anywhere.

Sighing, you turn to head away from the festivities as they come to a close. Everyone’s packing up their stuff, and you just want to go home, put on one of Steve’s shirts, and cry yourself to sleep, but your hopes are dashed by a body in your way.

“Hey, sugar, you rationed?” his voice is sickly sweet, and fear begins to creep into you as you back away.

“Look, I'm married, so...” you don't want to flash the ring, don't want it stolen, but you also would rather not be violated like this man's eyes seem to intend.

“Oh, c’mon, sweetheart, is he overseas? I mean, he's probably dead by now anyways,” the man continues slyly, keeping pace with you. “Even if he isn't, there are all those lovely women under German occupation who would love to thank their saviors in _anyway_ possible…”

“Not my Steve,” you defend righteously, knowing he'd never do anything to hurt you. Nothing like that. ...Even if your mind automatically jumps to the fact you haven't heard a word from him in what feels like forever but was probably only a month or so.

The man only shrugs contemptuously. “You never know, sweetcheeks. He could be just like all the others.” Your back is suddenly pressed against the hard wooden side of a booth, and you realize you're trapped. His arms go to either side of you, pinning you in.

“Might as well have some fun, right, darling?” His breath is sour and hot on your neck and face. His eyes cold and malevolent as they study your face with a cruel smirk. “Don't worry, I'll make it good for both of us.”

You scream, and it's just enough to bring someone running.

The guy goes flying as you wince and look away, the colors of the American flag flying before you. “You alright, ma’am?”

With your eyes shut, you can almost pretend it's Steve… you open them slowly.

“Steve?” you gasp, seeing those bright blue eyes staring back at you in similar astonishment. But… but he's… “You… you're…”

“I joined the army, doll,” he smiles, a quick and nervous gesture. Your eyes run up and down his whole body, confused and a little bit scared. He’s broad in the all the places he wasn’t when he left. He’s tall ( _so tall)_ too tall to possibly be your Steve. He’s freaking _Captain America_ for God’s sakes!

“No, you're… you're not, you're _not_ Steve…” you shake your head, breathing fast. “You _can't_ be him.”

He pulls the cowl off, revealing that moppy blonde hair and puppy dog expression all the better. It's like someone copied his face onto one of those army posters, depicting the perfect model and shape for Nazi-fighting soldiers. “It's me, I swear, doll, it's _me_. I… I told you I'd be in town today…”

“I haven't gotten a letter from you since boot camp ended,” you reply tearfully, trying not to cry as hard as you felt like doing.

He gapes, “No, I swear, I wrote you a letter every _damn_ day!”

You shake your head once more, looking away, “You… if you're _really_ Steve, you have to tell me something only he could know.” You want it to be Steve. _God_ , do you want this to be him, if only for the fact he's here now in the flesh - if brand new flesh you've never touched before.

_And doesn't that just scream to you like that new layer of perfect snow that makes all the childishness in you want to ruin?_

His eyes soften, “On our wedding day, December 12th, 1938, you tried to bundle me up in so many clothes you couldn't tell what I was underneath all those layers. But you also didn't want to postpone the wedding any longer. Your brother was a crying mess, and Bucky tried to get a date with your Maid of Honor. You told me, that night, that I was your first. And I said the same to you.” He chuckles a bit. “You were… probably not that surprised to hear it.”

“Steve,” your eyes gloss over fully, because he’s here and he’s safe and he’s… he’s changed. But he’s still the same man you fell in love with. You’re crying as you hug him tightly. Steve's so much bigger than he used to be, and your arms don't wrap all the way around like they used to. “You're here, you're home…” you shut your eyes tightly, sobbing into his shoulder.

“I'm here, doll, I'm here,” he lifts you off the ground with little strain and sets you to sit down on a crate as he kisses you. You relax into it because no one could possibly kiss you the way he does. His hands cup your face warmly, hands much larger and stronger than you're used to, but his lips are the same. His full, loving attention is spent entirely on you, and his breath rattles with anticipation rather than asthma. You’re just happy he’s alive, but you suppose the healthiness he exudes now is a bonus.

“Come home with me tonight?” you breathe against his lips, missing him in your bed, missing him around you. You need him so desperately tonight, you’re surprised you lasted so long without him. Working yourself to the bone seems to have tired you out more than you thought.

“I think they can stand to lose their Captain for a bit longer,” he murmurs, grinning against your lips.

“Mm, don't think I won't tease you about that,” you muse playfully, pecking his lips in a happy daze. “ _Captain_.”

“I could get used to hearing you say that,” he laughs quietly, but his eyes are getting dark with dilated pupils.

“Good, cuz I'll be using it _a lot_.”


	7. (2) The Time He Beats Himself Up for Not Being Able to Save You

One on one time with the punching bag gives him some time alone with his thoughts, which is… good and bad. Good because he knows he needs to sort through them, bad because it hurts like hell to.

With every frame-rattling punch, he smells concrete dust but remembers your perfume. He sees the swinging target but can’t help but picture you in your wedding dress. You smiling. Your breathless and blissful expression when he made love to you that one last time. Not realizing it would be his last. He hears the thud of his fists, feels the dull pain in his knuckles, but all that really cuts through is the aching loss, the sharp knife-stabbing realization that you're gone. Forever. He read the obituary, saw the file, and yet can't bring himself to visit the grave.

With a final yell, he rockets the punching bag across the room, causing it to burst open on the opposite wall. His chest heaves with every breath, heart pounding furiously, and yet he feels so cold and empty without you.

Maybe… maybe it's time to see you.

His feet crunch on the gravel walkway of the cemetery, his gaze down as he traverses the headstones. You're buried among the rest of them, the Howling Commandos, and it rips open an even bigger ache inside of him when he realizes there's a grave beside yours. His. An empty one that you must've cried over for years because as far as he knows, you never remarried. He wishes you had been able to move on but, at the same time, is selfishly glad you did not.

He kneels down, staring at your name carved beside his own last name, smiling with bittersweet agony. “Hey, doll,” he whispers, reaching out to stroke the stone. It's cold, but so is he. “I'm here. I-it's me…” he closes his eyes, remembering that day like it was yesterday. Or, y'know, a few months ago. Because it was. He had woken up to a strange new world that was void of you only recently, and he still expects to turn over and find your body curled up beside his. Your hair on the pillow, your smell in the air, your lips on his…

“I love you so much,” he breathes hard, tears dripping down his face as he puts his back to his own gravestone. “I _miss_ you so much. I… I don't know… I can't do it without you, doll. I… I _can't_ …”

He's got his head down, so it's no surprise that when more visitors come, they're a bit wary.

“Um, excuse me,” he looks up at the voice and is stunned immediately. “Did, did you know my grandmother?” The girl’s eyes are just like yours, her voice gentle and unfamiliar, though. The boy beside her, younger, stares into him like a ghost from the past. How can he possibly look so similar?

“You're _him_ , aren't you?” the boy asks, astonished, eyes wide. “Gramma talked about you a lot.” His sister gives him a look, then takes a moment to view Steve closer. Her eyes go wide as well.

“Grampa?”

 


End file.
